Scratches
by Dexys
Summary: A novelization of the game of the same name. Michael Arthate is a writer who gets involved in the disturbing history of the Blackwood family when he gets the Blackwood family house with the aid of his travel agent Jerry Carter.


_I have decided to write this novelization for the masses of people who have never heard of this amazing horror/adventure game. I hope I can convey some of the raw and intense suspense and fear this game gave me._

**SCRATCHES**

**A Novelization by Harry J. Brightwell**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**-UNWANTED-**

My name is Michael Arthate, and I am a writer. This novel is a documentation of the events I witnessed during my three-day stay at the old Blackwood Manor.

I swear that these events are true and completely unexaggerated – I swear this to our Lord and savior himself.

It all started a few months after I had published my first ever novel, Vanishing Town – the book was a big hit with critics and readers alike. They practically demanded a sequel and I was not one to disappoint. However, as I tried to write the sequel to Vanishing Town I found myself...uninspired. The area around me did nothing to inspire my creative mind and so, I decided to move.

I met Jerry Carter; a travel agent that was the cousin of a good friend of mine. We soon become distant friends and he secured me a nice, Victorian house owned by a now deceased aristocratic family: The Blackwoods. It was separated from the city and it was situated in the woods somewhere in the northern regions of England. It was perfect, everything I could hope for.

I decided to move there on the 12th of October, which was a Saturday.

I found out that these woods where near the city of Rothbury. The drive was smooth and I had no complaints. In fact, as I drove my green minivan through the eerie woods, the tower of the manor peeking through the tress, why, I could hardly contain my excitement! Like I had said, everything I could hope for.

I drove up to the gates that guarded the manor and I quickly left my car and opened up the gate before pushing my car until it was inside the gate and then I locked the gates. I smiled and started walking to the house when suddenly, I realized – the house key! It was in my car! I headed back to my car and opened it, getting the key to the manor from the glove compartment.

I finally walked up to the house again, this time climbing the steps and unlocking the door before opening it.

The house – my Lord, it really was perfect! The door creaked as it opened; it was so old-fashioned, too! Paintings everywhere, even a grandfather clock! Suddenly, I heard a phone ringing; it was coming from a small room to my left, so I headed there and picked it up.

"Michael, it's me." It was Jerry, if I ever had to admit anything negative about someone – it was his overly enthusiastic nature.

"Jerry! It's good to hear your voice, my friend." I replied.

"I see that the piece of junk you have there is working...how is everything?" Jerry said, as with any travel agent, he got straight to my opinion on the place.

"I must say, Jerry, it is a fine manor! Perfect, even." I replied in complete honesty, the unnerving feel of the place was chilling – which, for me, isn't a bad thing!

"You sound a little distant there, Michael." Jerry said with genuine worry. "You sure everything's alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine, Jerry! I'm just in awe at this place. This place is like a dream come true!" I replied. I heard Jerry sigh on the other end of the phone.

"So you do like it!" Jerry had sounded relieved and even more upbeat than usual. "You had me worried there for a second!"

"My friend, I intend to turn this house into a factory of horror stories!" I suppose my enthusiasm made me exaggerate that line quite a bit, but I digress.

"You ought to finish that book, I'm rooting for you, mate." Jerry said, I could picture him grinning in his office.

"Sure. I'll call you if I have any problems or questions. Goodbye, Jerry." I said, hanging up the phone.

I went upstairs to go and put my luggage down. I glanced at the various paintings on the walls as I went before going into my new bedroom and over to the desk.

As I entered the room, I quickly realized why Jerry had secured this room for me – it was perfect. There was even an amazing view of the woods through the large window over the desk. I soon set my belongings down. I flipped the light switch and realized something very quickly; the power was out. I decided that I'd ring Jerry about it after I had organized my things.

I had set my smaller briefcase on the desk. I pulled out my typewriter, some blank paper and a note regarding the ending to my new book:

'_The ending... have to come up with a suitable ending. The final twist was the most celebrated aspect of VT - they will tear me apart if I don't pull off another thing like that. But how...how...how..._

I'm up to the point where Steve goes mad. She is confused... the visions are becoming real. So we knew for sure there's a supernatural element in the story (wait... is that really so?). Question is: does it have anything to do with the creepy old lady or not? Would it be too obvious if her powers were real after all?

Big big question: would people accept it if the solution to the story is unreal? Damn why am I trying to please everybody here?

NO DEUS EX MACHINA

On the other hand... a realistic solution disguised as supernatural. Is that possible? They are expecting something like that... a real and probably outcome, that's what they loved in VT.

Bloody hell! This is driving me insane...'

I considered doing more work on my novel, but I decided to explore the house first – my curiosity getting the best of me.

I quickly wanted to check my other case first to make sure my belongings were all there. As I expected, my stuff was there; a few shirts and trousers, my shoes, a pencil, a notepad with my secretary, Barbara's phone number on it, a letter from Jerry and my first novel; Vanishing Town.

I decided to start my exploration of the manor downstairs in the lounge. I saw a diary on the coffee table and I decided to read it – even though it was of the previous owners, it was mine by law now. I sat on a chair in between the table and the fireplace and picked up the diary and I began reading:

'_April 20th_

During a fit of rage I burnt my previous diary. Not that I regret it... as if my disjointed notes were worth anything. Their only purpose was to keep me sane. I feel that this is my escape route, my only means of finding some inner peace. Whenever I put my pen to this paper, I feel that I can reflect upon my situation... I just wish I had more options, that's all. But I'm rambling. I must think clearly... focus, focus...

May 12th

I've become an eternal guardian... stuck between few choices, some of which are good. Do I fulfill a promise and violate everything that I believe in, the very principles of my life, or am I condemned to spend the rest of my existence in this deadened state, a ghost with no other purpose than just being here watching? I truly have no escape... I can't find an appropriate solution to this problem... and I must pay the price. I'm a shadow of the man I used to be. Only these notes remain, my testament in these moments of mediation, my sole companion.

June 26th

Today I spent the entire afternoon staring at the window, my mind a blank. Oddly enough, I really didn't care. It seems now as though it was something... natural for me, a part of my personality. But I know the reason very well. I've lost my soul. I'm an empty shell, devoid of any feelings. I renounced them on that fateful day... and the worst thing is I KNEW there were going to be consequences. No... no, that's not true. Consequences were far worse than I expected. How could I be so blind?

January 25th

I often wonder what would have happened if we had simply reversed it all... what would happen if right now I came out and told the world what really happened. No, I'd end up rotting in jail. Although... that might be better destiny compared to this eternal suffering.

November 17th

I can't say for sure when it began. I just heard them, one morning, coming from next room... the whispers. Are they real? Have I been alone for too long? They won't stop, I can't stand it any longer...

February 9th

Ever since I locked it away that everything seems to have calmed down a bit. Perhaps James was right after all... it's madness, I know. But at this point I'd be inclined to believe anything.

May

Over the years I was convinced that everything James suffered was a misfortune, a whim of destiny... for the first time ever, I'm not so sure anymore. I never thought it could happen, but I believe I understand now. If this is so, then cursed be my soul! Poor James... if I had acted in another way then maybe things would have worked out differently. But it's too late now. And I have to suffer my Calvary...

Sept 13th

The noises are back although this time they're different. Before, I'd only hear them inside my head, as if someone or something was whispering and... how to put this... interrupting my thoughts. But now... I can really FEEL them spread around the house. What are they?

Sept 14th

I've realized... the noises are coming from down there. I don't want to think about it anymore.

Decmbr

They are unbearable... they get worse at night... oh how I wish it would stop... what is going on down there? I don't dare go nearer... I don't want to know...

Ma-**-y

God how many years have passed? I have lost all sense of time...

I have to get out of this place.'

The diary had unsettled me greatly. Was this the diary of Mr. Blackwood? What were these noises? Were they real? I shuddered at the many thoughts, the questions in my head as I set the diary down and stood from the chair I had been sitting in and sighed. I figured I decided that I should find a way to clear my mind of these thoughts.

The grandfather clock in the hall told me that it was 10:00 am; I still had plenty of time to finish looking around the house as well as getting some work done so I headed to the door closest to me which lead into a dining room. The first thing I checked was the cabinet, which was filled with expensive looking wines. I was tempted to try some but nobody would be around to pace me.

Upon further inspection, it was clear that these British aristocrats weren't afraid of showing their riches off – lovely silverware and china were on display, there were cups n saucers with tea cozies. Napkins and paper towels were in the drawers. There were also candlesticks on nearly every little table and the dining table itself.

I then entered the double doors, which lead to a study. There was a globe, a small clock and there were also many awards. The thing that really caught my attention was the diploma, kept in a frame. It was a diploma, granting the title of Construction Engineer to James T. Blackwood. James must have been the first name of Mr. Blackwood. This must've been his study.

I went to James' desk and found another book, similar to the diary from in the lounge. Perhaps it was another diary? I sat at his desk and picked up the book, opening it up confirmed that it was a diary. It read:

'_February 6th_

The construction of the railway bridge is almost complete and went quite smoothly. It took longer than I expected, yet I wish it would have lasted longer. I will be very sad to leave South Africa... I've become attached to it, its culture, its arts, over the past few months, that I can't help feeling as if it was already a part of me. I will surely return someday... soon hopefully, although I'm afraid there is a great deal of work to be taken care of back in old Britain.

Fortunately, I made good friends here who were ecstatic about my new appreciation of their country. They have offered me some wonderful objects as a token of gratitude which I have already crated and got ready to ship, along with many trinkets I bought myself. It looks like I'm about to start a very substantial collection! It's a good thing Catherine agreed to move into our new home, although I fear several renovations will have to be made. Even more if I'm intending to start a serious new hobby.

It seems I'll have to get back to work. John Patterson just told me some natives are causing trouble. A very unfortunate thing, although I'm secretly rejoicing...

February 12th

The natives won't leave. It's not like they're causing "trouble" so much as they're unsettling our workers. The only complaint so far has been distraction. They just stand still between the trees staring at us, without blinking an eye. I've watched them for a few minutes and they truly seem like some tenebrous statues.

At first it was just annoying, but lately it has become downright creepy. They seem to be... stalking us. So it's not like they're hindering the construction but there is a general uneasy feeling as if they were about to jump at us at any moment. I think I will hire some protection as a measure of precaution.

February 15th

Fascination! I've been long into these natives... they live in a nearby village and are a very small group, yet they seem to manage quite well. I had thought of them as quite an uncivilized tribe, but their movements are calculated and one can perceive a sense of careful organization in their tasks.

Oddly enough, they seem to be very brutish, and their aspect looks awful, although I couldn't take a good look at their facial features as I followed one of them completely on my own and it could have been dangerous getting any closer. Also, the village is poor and very rough, but some of the shacks leapt out as... inviting, or special. It made me very curious.

I will try to come closer tomorrow...

February 16th

My second expedition to the village of the natives has been foiled by an unexpected problem, at the bridge. I'm afraid it was due to a slight miscalculation on my part... an indication that I should be focusing more on the task at hand and put my sudden love for all African things aside for a moment. It was my fault, and I accept it.

February 20th.

They are at it again... lurking beyond the forest. It's amazing how they have changed our perception of the surroundings. At first we were delighted by the quiet nature of the place. Now, we fear what horrors might be concealed in that dark and foreboding cloak of trees. The tops loom above us, overshadowing the bridge, and strange noises haunt our meals. Even the river seems to be telling ungodly secrets. We could be, of course, a bit more sensitive towards distractions, but I can't help feeling the area has, in fact, become more sinister.

And yet, I'm still looking forward to satisfying my curiosity about the tribe...

February 24th

At last I've found something more about the neighboring tribe! This is an incredible finding and I just can't withhold my excitement! Some elders at the local town happened to know about them, but only through stories they heard. The most surprising thing is that the tribe was assumed to be extinct long ago, but according to my (vague) descriptions the elders think that we could be dealing with a "legend" here.

Everything they eve learned of them was during their childhood, when the tribe was stalking the town, much in the same way they have been stalking us. People used to call them "D'lhawn" as such was the sound of screams heard echoing late in the night. They'd come out into the streets and see an evil glitter atop a hill in the distance. Some say it was a fire, others the cursed spirit of an ancient God. Whatever it was, they say the bright light, amid those fantastic screams, was bone chilling.

The macabre scene would suddenly stop just as it had begun out of nowhere, never to be seen again in days to come. Intervals between those horrible nights become longer and longer, until they soon faded into oblivion. The tribe apparently had retreated back into obscurity... until now. They were later known as the "Dhalmaar", a rather more... scientific name, although none of the people I spoke with could possibly remember its origin.

I find it extremely surprising that nobody has ever heard about this tribe with the exception of a few townspeople. They must be incredibly rare... and judging by the stories passed on from generations in the town, very old.

February 27th

I will confess that I've become nearly obsessed with this strange tribe. I see them as the most prized goal of my appreciation towards all South-African things... dangerous, yet irresistible reward. I feel as if they were my discovery. I simply have to study them before leaving. I fear I won't have the chance to ever again. It has become an important goal of mine... even more important than finishing the bridge.

March 4th

Finally... I have managed to see them! My God, what a disturbing spectacle! When we arrived, they were moving around the village very slowly, without speaking or communicating with each other, each minding his or her own business, completely alien to the rest of the world. They were filthy looking, coarse and downright disgusting. I couldn't see weapons, but they could have been stored somewhere. It was all very strange behavior in a tribe. They must be quite unique.

Then, as if they had suddenly all become possessed by some wild spirit, they began shaking spasmodically and screaming like mad. Some of them dropped to their knees and lifted their heads to the sky, eyes blank, and moaning in an indescribable way. Two of them walked away, still in that monotonous and slow manner, and in great contrast to the rest of the scene, into a shack. The next minute they brought out into the open an odd-looking mask. Its shapes, colors and overall looks, while unsettling, were mesmerizing and I felt instantly hypnotized by it. It rendered my modest collection of African curiosities into dull and uninteresting items.

The mask was very ominous and the whole tribe seemed to greatly revere it. Soon, they began to gather around it and move in circles, fluttering and chanting a guttural psalm. Judging by their motions and aspect of the whole ritual, it must have been some kind of war ritual.

I'm not sure how to explain what happened next as I feel my pulse is already throbbing. Words fail me to recount the most disturbing thing I've ever witnessed. One of the male villagers walked into the middle, near the mask, by his own will. It was an almost automatic act. All of a sudden, the remaining members became silent. I can't tell for how long it lasted but I was afraid to breath. I think Dalby and the others were also scared... they wouldn't even blink. I remember being soaked wet and expectant. The silence was so unnatural... then, a few members separated from the people circling the mask and jumped on the single villager, beating him to death.

To be completely faithful to the event, the small crowd tore him apart. They grabbed his legs in twos and threes and twisted them in a manner I dare not describe. His face was disfigured with their bare fingernails and teeth, and the torso soon disappeared under the frenzied tangle of hands. In a matter of a few minutes the villager was turned into a red sack of bones. Not one of the attackers had the compassion to snap his neck during the sickening process. All was very methodical as if it was just another mundane task.

The most terrifying aspect though, was that the victim didn't even cringe. The silence was so deep I could hear his flesh ripping. I would expect any living creature to scream its guts out in such a condition. I can't tell whether he was... drugged or half-asleep, but I did recognize him dancing like everybody else before walking into the middle of the circle. It was the most outrageous and sadistic sacrifice I've ever heard of... I don't think I will ever forget what I saw.

My intentions of approaching further, even if they didn't have any weapons at hand, vanished. Those creatures (I dare not call them human beings) could have killed my whole company in the blink of an eye with their rage. They seemed to be completely out of themselves and willing to destroy anything intruding into their path.

While the images of the sacrifice still haunt my thoughts, I still can't seem to forget that mask. It was so deceptively simple and yet perfect in its design... I haven't seen anything like it. I surely would love to take a better look... I feel the Dhalmaar, dangerous as they are, could be the most important ethical finding in decades. What I've seen today is crying for some further investigating. I just can't leave them like that... I would never forgive myself.

And the mask... that mask...'

This diary was even more disturbing and gut wrenching than the last – I felt deeply disturbed as I put the diary back on the desk and stood from the chair. However, it gave me a sense of inspiration; however, I decided that I would continue looking through the house first.

I searched through the drawers of the desk and found an envelope, it was empty so, unfortunately, there was no more reading material to further disturb myself with.

I walked through a door that led to a passageway. I then went through another door, one that led to a kitchen. This place showed the most signs of dirt, there were rusty and unclean pots and pans everywhere. There was also a kettle on the oven and silverware in the cupboard. Speaking of silverware, I decided to take a large knife with me, I don't know why; but I felt a lot safer with it.

There was also a really dirty sink and a fridge that only held empty bottles and a plate of old bones of what I assumed was probably one of the last meals of the family. I also noticed some shelves full of various boxes, cans and jars. There was also a small grinder on a table in the kitchen.

The door to what I assumed was the basement was locked. The last door led to another bedroom, it was probably a guest bedroom due to it being a lot less grand than the rest of the house.

The person who stayed here last was clearly a photographer or, at least, interested in photography as there were cameras, photos and even books on photography everywhere. I picked up a piece of paper with some odd markings on it that was on top of a desk at the bottom of the bed.

There was a picture of the kitchen and, oddly enough, I could see a pot on a counter below a key holder which had a key on it. But there was neither a pot nor a key in the kitchen when I looked...odd...

There was another room inside the bedroom that led to a small bathroom where photos were being hung to dry over a bath full of now dirty water. This room was obviously used as a red room and the photos were now long since dry.

In the bath of dirty water was a photo of the door that, presumably, led to the basement, except it was open. For some reason, this caused me to become unnerved as I left the bathroom and then the small bedroom.

I decided, at that point, to start looking upstairs...


End file.
